


3 Days/4 Nights at Winterfell

by crtkelly_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Westworld (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Westworld Fusion, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, F/M, Mind Manipulation, POV Arya Stark, Past Lives, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crtkelly_writes/pseuds/crtkelly_writes
Summary: Sansa's offer of a girls trip to Delos Inc.'s new medieval theme park was just the thing to pull Arya out of the funk she has been in since she and Jaqen broke up. What entails is an adventure for both Stark sisters as they experience the good and bad of one of pivotal moments in Westeros' past. Whether reliving their clan's history ends up being a good idea, remains yet to be seen especially when the lines between what's real and what isn't begin to blur.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's not like I have no other stories to finish, but catching a glimpse of Drogon on Westworld season 3.ep.2 led to this one here. And when a story takes root...well, lets just see how this figment of my overactive imagination takes me.

“Get up and start packing, Arya, I’ve booked us a girls’ trip!”

The tiny brunette rolled over and put one of her pillows over her head in response.

  
“Arya!”

  
“Go away, Sansa.”

The older Stark girl sat down and attempted to extract the pillow from her sibling’s head, but her sister held fast to it. “Come on Arya, it will be fun, and you deserve some fun,” she added as she gave up and started rubbing her sister’s arm instead. “No man should steal your joy, remember,” Sansa reminded her sister, using the same words Arya had spoke to her after her breakup with Joff. She frowned when the slight form beneath her hand began trembling. She was crying again, and that made Sansa hate Jaqen H’ghar even more than she did already. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts, Arya...I know.”

Her back to her sister, Arya swiped her face with the hand hidden by her pillow. There was no way Sansa knew how she felt. Her good-looks and bubbly personality meant that she had always been the center of attention; that there had always been guys tripping over their feet in their attempts to get close to her, even to the point that they would endure her sullen, plain-faced, tom-boyish little sister, just to get the inside track to the auburn-haired beauty. Arya had known this; she was used to it, but Jaqen: he was different. He saw her for what she was, and by the gods, he liked her for her. At least she thought he had, but in the end that too had been a lie. In the end, he had left her, proving to Arya what she had always known: that she simply had nothing to offer to the opposite sex. She just wished the Lorathi man had had the balls to tell her from the get-go, and not let her develop feelings for him before he abandoned her.

“Arya?”

“How Sans, how the hell is a stupid spa trip going to help? Is it going to miraculously turn me into you, beautiful, someone worth loving?”

“Arya Lyanna Stark, don’t you fucking dare!”

Her sister’s screech stopped Arya’s self-diatribe in its tracks… not to mention that her usually poised; her perfect sister had just used the “f” word.

She turned over and looked up at her. “You cursed.”

“Aye, I fucking did, and I’ll fucking do it again if you ever spout that sort of shit again! You are one of the most beautiful women I know. So, don’t you dare let me ever hear you say that about yourself again! And fuck Arya, do you have no faith in me that I would drag you off to some damn spa…Gods-dammit, Arya.”

Arya struggled up to sit up against her headboard.

“Okay, tell me, but please lay off the swearing; it’s so not you.”

Sansa sent her a look that seemed to indicate that Arya had no clue what she was talking about, but then the expression was gone, replaced by a smile of excitement as she pulled out a brochure.

  
“3 Days/4Nights at Delos Inc Westeros-World.” 

  
She paused, expecting Arya to show some emotion, after-all she had been so excited when the corporation had first announced their latest theme park attraction concept. She was left confused when the brunette frowned instead.

“I thought they had delayed opening it indefinitely after all the glitches they had during the soft-opening.”

  
“I guess they have worked out the kinks now,” Sansa replied as she unfolded the glossy pamphlet to reveal the inserts that highlighted the different lands and experiences available to their guests. “Come on Arya, I know you will like this.”

  
“Pretending to be some medieval Lady is not really my thing Sansa. That’s you; not me, I’m not a Lady.”

“True, but you don’t have to be. Look,” Sansa said began placing leaflets on her sister’s lap. “You can be anyone: A Sand-Snake from Dorne; a Lady-Knight in the King’s Guard, even Queen Nymeria herself…your absolute favorite.”

“Wait a minute that’s not how it works, Sans. You’re only allowed to experience the world, not replace any of the historical characters.”

“Perhaps in the original West-World, but not with their latest attraction. Obviously, you pay a premium for it, but if that’s what you want, I can easily upgrade our package. The only clause is that we would both have to partake of the same experience, so we would really have to think about which…”

“The Long Night,” Arya interrupted. “Do they have that?”

Sansa stilled. Although she had hoped that Arya would get into the spirit of things, she really hadn’t expected for her sister to select one of the most terrifying battles in history. Even if the reality of the war didn’t include undead zombies and dragons; tales of which had been carried down as Stark family lore over the years, it was the fiercest clash of the north; if not all of Westeros. Sure Arya, with her fencing and martial arts training, would have a chance, but what in the seven-hells would she do there? 

On the other hand, not only had her sister’s tears dried up, but there was a light in her eyes where before there had been none. Gods-Dammit, how could she deny her now?

“They do,” she finally answered, pulling up website on her mobile, where there was more detailed information on the theme park’s Winterfell offerings. She passed the phone to her sister, whose eyes widened as she read the particulars of the package. “So, I guess we’ll be upgrading then, Arya?”

“Oh, hells yeah, Sans,” the tiny brunette exclaimed, before launching towards her sister. “Thank you so much, Sansa, you’re the best!”

Sansa hugged her sister and returned the tight squeeze. She was truly going to fucking kill that foreign bastard if she ever saw him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making their way to and their first impressions of Delos Inc. new theme park: Westeros World. While one Stark girl looks as if she has settled in right away, the other inexplicably is having a hard time acclimating

“You do know that you live, right Sans? Not only that,” Arya said from her rear-facing seat on the family’s private jet, “When it’s all over, you become the Queen of the North.”

Across from her, Sansa opened her tightly shut eyes to gaze at her sibling. “You mean my namesake does.”

“Well, technically, you are her namesake,” Arya corrected her sister, pleased that the topic might be enough to alleviate some her sister’s anxiety on account of the turbulence they were presently experiencing. Sansa had never liked to fly, even after all these years any slight bump would have her panicking, and when she was much younger, reaching for the closest sickness bag. Thankfully, she had outgrown the severe motion sickness that had plagued her in her youth, but with even the slightest of jolts sending the normally unflappable woman into a tizzy, once she was old enough to make her own travel decisions, Sansa chose any mode but flying if she could. The fact that she would willingly make a trip that would immediately take her out of her comfort zone just getting to their destination in the first place, made Arya even more appreciative of the pallid-faced woman opposite her. 

Compounding the fact that her choice of fantasy was so far removed from anything that her ultra-feminine sibling would ever partake of, Arya naturally felt compelled to do anything she could to help take Sansa’s mind off of her uneasiness as they flew to the remote island that housed the Hi-tech resort that would be hosting them. That, plus the weekend she had covertly booked in one of Sansa’s favorite spas post their excursion, Arya hoped would make up for Sansa indulging her first. 

“I think you will be amazing in your role, Sans. Everything I’ve read on our illustrious ancestor makes me even prouder to a product of her lineage. She not only oversaw the rebuilding of Winterfell but she then ruled the north ably for as long as she lived, making incredible strides for womankind in a decidedly patriarchal society that would rather treat females as chattel; good for nothing but bearing the next generation of men. It’s a fact that under her reign the North prospered more than it ever had before. The woman after whom you were named, Sansa, is the very reason why our family is in the advantageous position we are today. She was amazing, and I can only imagine what the next few days will be for you walking in her shoes. There’s so much more I could tell you, but I don’t want you to rely solely on my take of Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”

Sansa cocked her head to one side as she absorbed what was being relayed, but more noteworthy was that the hands that were before gripping her seat-rests were relaxed now. “You really have a done that much research in such a short time, Arya? I am impressed, considering I barely had time to familiarize myself with some of the characters we will be interacting with. Even now, I am unsure of them all. At the rate I’m going, I’ll probably set Westeros World back to the stone age by the time we leave.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Arya returned. “Queen Sansa: First of her Name was….wait no, no never mind, you will just have to discover it for yourself sis, but in my opinion, you probably have more in common with her than not. I’m sure you will take to the role like a fish to water.” 

“Hmm… If you say so,” the auburn-haired woman replied, “Okay,” she said, getting more into the topic. “So, what of Arya Stark: the original; I know you wouldn’t have gone as in depth in your research only to limit your research to only one of our notable ancestors. What can be expected of her?”

Arya cast her eyes down as she contemplated what she could say that wouldn’t sound too disparaging. 

Of course, her search hadn’t been restricted to just one Stark ancestor; that wouldn’t make sense. However, unlike the royal daughter, information on the second Stark female was sparce, and what had been found, much to Arya’s dismay, not very heartening. It seemed that the young woman in question was considered as much of an oddity back then as her modern namesake was today, especially in contrast to her older, more accomplished sibling. By the lack of details, her story clearly was not deemed noteworthy as to even ascertain the woman’s fate beyond the fact that, after being unaccounted for many years, she had also been present at Winterfell and had survived. 

And why would her story matter, when true Northern royalty had risen from the ashes of the battle in the form of Queen Sansa Stark? Juxtaposed against that, the Arya of old would be negligible: no-one even, proving that history, as they say, really does repeat itself.

“Arya?”

Forcing a smile, the brunette raised her head to respond to her sister. She could not help but see the irony of the similar roles she and her sister had to their ancestors. “Well, let’s just say, Dad knew what he was about when he decided on our names, Sansa.”

Her stare was relentless, as if to discern any hidden meaning behind Arya’s answer, but then Sansa settled on a smile. “In other words, she was as incredible as you are Arya; I figured as much,” she added with a chuckle.

“Now what do you think about the fact that we have siblings: brothers at that. That will be a far cry from just the two of us, won’t it? Jon and Bran if I’m not mistaken. Do you think there will be any family resemblance?”

*********

For authenticity sake, they had entered attraction separately. Sansa, in her pivotal role, had much to attend to at Winterfell, so it was thought that it would be best for her to enter solo, without the distraction of her younger sister, but eventually after hearing that Arya had finally entered the theme park Sansa had come for her in the crypts.

“I knew I would find you here.”

The shorter girl looked up to her totally transformed sister. Her outfit exuded power and, as she expected, Sans was carrying it off beautifully. Her bearing was absolutely that of a highborn lady from the time period. Already, she looked as if she belonged, Arya thought, unlike herself.

“Must I call you Lady Stark now?” Arya asked, only half-joking. 

“Yes.”

The smaller girl nodded and then went back to studying the statue she stood before. “Are you certain that Dad didn’t give them access to Winterfell; they’ve actually come up with a remarkable facsimile of the real thing; even down to the crypts.”

“If he did, then he didn’t advise me,” Sansa answered as she too considered the mockup of their ancestors’ final resting place. “But you are correct, Arya. I am impressed with what they have accomplished. If the rest of Westeros World is anything like this; I think they are on to a winner.”

Provided they don’t have any repeat of the malfunctioning hosts they had in the past, Arya thought to herself. She didn’t dare speak that aloud, lest Sansa become concerned about the incidents that had resulted in a number of guests being injured. “So, Lady Stark, how has your what first, fifty-five minutes of your role been,” Arya asked taking a quick peak at the smartphone in her hand.

Sansa gasped, “Arya, what are you doing with that; you know you were to place of your electronic devices in the safety deposit box at the hotel. They will kick you out if they discover you brought that into the park.”

“Force of habit,” Arya explained, as she secreted it back in under the shoulder cape she wore. “I must have pocketed without realizing it when I changed into this. But since I have it,” She preempted the next complaint, after she had taken a selfie in front of the statue of an older Lord Stark, by promising Sansa that she would pack it away in her bedchamber this evening. “Even though, I really don’t understand what the big deal is. If those guards I encountered when I arrived are any indication of the quality of the A.I. being used, I really don’t expect the hosts to object to me having it, because they won’t have a clue.”

“Why did you run from them Arya?”

“Me…run, from those guards? Is that what they reported to you, Lady Stark?” The younger girl couldn’t even begin to hide her disdain for the two hosts she first encountered. “I certainly hope they aren’t your last line of defense, milady. If that’s the case; you are in desperate need of better guards.”

“I’ve met with Bran,” Sansa announced, ignoring her sister’s protest. “I really think you should too, Arya. He, I can assure you, is nothing like the guards. He’s… interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Very. You will see for yourself once you meet him. Now seems the perfect time, so shall we,” she offered, turning to leave the subterranean chamber.

“Where are we heading, Sans?”

“Somewhere we are both very familiar with,” Sansa returned with a coy smile as she led her sister. 

She nodded to a servant who curtsied as they passed, and again, Arya couldn’t help but note how comfortable Sansa was even in this environment, already, while she had yet to settle in. Then again, Sans had had the benefit of about an hour’s head start on her.  
  
Someone had to have access to their estate, Arya thought as they traversed the distance from the keep towards their destination. Things were far too similar for the construction to be based solely on the publicly available information of the historically listed northern estate. It was very easy to imagine that they were actually home, so well done was this replica. As such, she expected to feel the same when the passed with Sansa into the godswood. 

Her mouth fell ajar at how very wrong she was.

While the layout of their ancestral home had proven pretty spot on this: the forested land that lay within Winterfell’s walls, was vastly different from the natural playground where she and Sansa had frolicked in their youth. Not visually, but something otherworldly. There was a reverence to the site that Arya had never felt at home, almost as if these were hallowed grounds, they walked upon, with the weirwood serving as its altar. Or perhaps that was just her imagination taking flight upon beholding the wheelchair bound figure who seemed almost in communion with the towering Heart Tree. Regardless of what it was, there was no denying her goosebumps that had nothing to do with frigid air.

“Bran,” Arya called cautiously as she approached the young man who sat in silence.

It took a moment before the man removed his hand from the alabaster tree, trunk and lifted his head, allowing the younger Stark sister her first glimpse of her “brother.” 

“Sister, you came home.” 

“I did,” Arya answered automatically. Sansa was right; this host was nothing like the two she had previously encountered. There was a power exuding from him that she couldn’t even begin to describe, and some-how she actually felt a kinship with him.

“It’s good that you have: both of you. As I told Sasna before, every Stark will have their own part to play if we are all to survive.”

Arya deliberately attempted not to look to Sansa, imagining that her sister would think this performance to be slightly OTT, but instead found her sister totally unruffled by Bran’s pronouncement. Rather she saw a complete acceptance of the his words. Whatever it was, Sansa felt it too. In an instant the rumors of the illegal data collection scandal that had plagued Delos, came to mind, but not willing to touch that point, she changed the subject. “What’s that,” she asked the young man who according the character bio she had studied was only a year younger than her. “Where did you get this,” she asked of the intricate dagger he had just unsheathed.

“Little Finger gave it to me.”

“Little Finger, he’s here,” Arya asked, recalling her previous readings on the man infamous for his duplicity: the Judas of his time if anyone could be considered such.

Sansa stepped forward, “He has declared for House Stark. Why would he give you a dagger?”

“He’d thought I’d want it.”

“Why,” Sansa asked.

“Because it was meant to kill me.”

“The cutthroat, after your fall.”

Arya was impressed. Sansa, it appeared had decided to make the best of it, to the extent that she had remembered the facts they had been given to assume the roles they were to play. “Why would a cutthroat have a Valerian steel dagger?”

“Someone very wealthy wanted me dead.”

“He’s not a generous man. He wouldn’t give you anything, unless he thought he was getting something back,” the Lady of Winterfell asserted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bran intoned.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter,” Sansa urged.

“I don’t want it,” Bran responded and then held the re-sheathed weapon out to Arya.

The tiny brunette hesitated. “Are you sure? It’s Valerian steel.”

“It’s wasted on a cripple,” he responded refusing to withdraw his offer. 

Arya tried, to no avail, to discern Bran’s expression as she took it from him. Even as she examined the ornate casing, she felt him continuing to study her. She looked back up at him expectantly, for it seemed that there was something he wanted to disclose. When their eyes finally met, he held her gaze a little longer before speaking.

“Sometimes in order to be able to take sure steps into a new future, revisiting the past is necessary. You were wise to come home, Arya Stark.”

*******

Although she had been tempted to explore some more immediately after their evening meal, Petyr Baelish’s proximity to Sansa had Arya second guessing that notion. The sycophantic behavior of the man who had finally the attained nobility he had aspired to via his marriage to and the subsequent death of their late Aunt Lysa set her teeth of edge, so much that she was wary about leaving her sister alone with him. Not that Sansa seemed to share the same view, as she handled the man with the aplomb that she did any other male who approached her normally. However, this man, Arya could not help but believe was far, more scheming than her sister was accustomed to, and bared close watching. That was clear, not only to her it, but also to the statuesque lady knight who had positioned herself close to her sister. 

Far too often tonight, Arya found her own disconcerted expression reflected in the visage of Lady Brienne of Tarth, the Lady of Winterfell’s self-appointed protector. Consequently, it was much later than Arya had hoped for when finally, Sansa deemed that she had enough of the man’s attention and dismissed his escort in favor of her sibling and her guard.

“My Lady, I implore you not to…”  
“Sansa, I do not trust that man; you need to stay away from…”

“Before either of you speak further, believe me, I know exactly what Petyr Baelish is about. The Vale clearly isn’t enough for him. He aspires to the even loftier position of Warden of the North and thinks that by encouraging discord between me and our half-brother, he is preparing the path to attain it. What he has yet to comprehend is that, I am not the weak woman he believes me to be, and his progression will never come at the expense of the Stark Family.” She stopped and addressed her sibling. “Bran wasn’t wrong when he said that every Stark had their part to play, and I am getting a clear understanding exactly what my role should be.” She smiled gently at her sister. “Don’t worry about me Arya, spare your focus for the upcoming battle and what lies ahead of you.”

********

The next morning, Arya decided to forgo breakfast in the great hall for something quick and more importantly light from the kitchen. Strangely she was still feeling antsy this morning, that had nothing to do with the upcoming battle. Still, reflecting on her sister’s words, she knew that she would have little time to prepare for whatever part she was to play in the events to come; whatever that proved to be. 

  
Stepping out of the keep, Arya exhaled, observing the misty cloud which hung in the air when she did. The temperature had dropped significantly lower today, which legend foretold was indicative of the advancement of their unknown foes from beyond the Wall. Even as she shivered, she had to commend Delos for this small detail; this would especially appeal to guests who held a passion for the fabled encounter. Her house words: Winter was coming, were literally coming true, and that meant that very soon so would the action. 

Too soon.

Theirs being an abridged version of the events that led up to the fabled battle, by virtue of their length of stay, Arya recognized she had little time to find her place here. Before she knew it, the war, that none would escape, would arrive on Winterfell’s doorstep, so it was paramount for her to establish for herself what she would be able to do to help in the battle. At the very least she would need to train a bit, to see if she was even up to the task ahead. Thankfully though, she had a fair idea exactly where she should start.

“Milady you cannot use that, it’s too small.”

Arya was convinced that the women opposite her was the most formidable warrior present at Winterfell. For now, at least. This afternoon would be a different story, for they had already been informed of the massive procession heading north, legions of men who served the Dragon Queen, who had agreed to fight this battle at the behest of their brother Jon. Not to mention the dragons. She couldn’t wait to see them, but this sparring session needed to come first. 

Arya assumed her fighting stance. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she responded coolly.

“Alright then.”

Successfully countering a completely different style of fighting from the fluid almost dance-like steps she was versed in, Arya’s her mind wondered from a far easier encounter than she had expected to the arrival of the fighting men. And the dragons. How exactly had the company recreated the dragons? Animatronic people were one thing, but to craft giant winged, fire breathing...wait what were dragons exactly anyway: lizards, dinosaurs?

Her wayward thoughts getting the best of her, Arya suddenly felt the solid kick to her chest from Brienne which had her flat on her back and cursing her lapse in concentration. Had this been a real fight, she could very well be dead now, and it would have been all her fault. Dragons and whomever would arrive with them would have to wait, for if she didn’t recommit to the sparring at hand, she would most likely be one of the first to fall when the enemy arrived. Cursing herself for such a idiotic lapse, she leapt up into crouch with a grunt and again went on the offensive.

As she attacked, she reminded herself that she was Arya Stark of Winterfell and her family would need her.

******

Not much on pomp and circumstance, Arya had left in hopes of avoiding the formal greet and hastened through the gates so that she could anonymously assemble with the crowds of small folk who had gathered to watch the arrival of Jon Snow, and the Targaryen princess.

At least, that’s what she told herself. But the fact remained was that the reinforcements the King in the North had set out to secure were close to arriving, and still, Arya hadn’t found her footing in any of this. 

She was totally lost, actually

She thought she would have a better concept of her role after sparring with Brienne, but she still felt adrift. While satisfied it had been an equal match between her and the skilled warrior, Arya recognized that the skirmish between them was in no way representative of what combat against an invading army would entail. The enemy would certainly not wait their turn as she dispatched them one by one, so that basically rendered her fencing skills ineffective. She was fortunate in that she had other abilities, but how to successfully translate them into what she needed to do, she hadn’t quite determined. Would it have behooved the park staff to have given her at least a hint of what was expected of her before she entered?

The issue was made even more maddening by the fact Delos were so exacting in other areas, to the extent that they had finely detailed the obvious prejudice towards so many foreigners invading their territory the northern hosts she stood with, held. “Yeah,” Arya mumbled to herself, as she observed the disdain on the faces of the hosts who watched so many ‘savages’ encroach upon their land. “You can finetune good old bigotry, but not disclose information pertinent to my gods-damned survival. Stupid mofos.”

She was still dwelling on her growing malcontent when an approaching couple on horseback that suddenly broke up the never-ending parade of foreign fighters, stole her attention.

Her breath caught in her throat. 

The woman’s regal bearing made it easy to identify who she was, and should Arya require further affirmation, she need only examine the classic Targaryen features well on display. If she cared that was, which strangely enough, she wasn’t. No, it definitely wasn’t the appearance of the disposed queen of Westeros that had her breathless. Rather it was the man who rode beside her whose focus rest solely on the ethereal beauty of his companion, that had captured Arya’s attention.

“Jon,” she whispered, willing the man to turn her direction, so she could confirm if what she perceived was true. From where she stood he looked like Dad, she thought, which meant, by rote, that she looked like him. How had they gotten that so right, she wondered? Unwittingly her eyes pricked with tears, as she watched the dark haired man’s advance.

How long had it been, she thought as unconsciously she gripped the pommel of her slender sword. “Look at me, Jon,” she urged, anxious to see the recognition in his eyes, and ideally the abatement of her all her uncertainty.

But it was not to be, and before she knew it, the man who was her brother had passed. Her head dropped; her disappointment more than it should have been, but she could hardly breakdown, not when there was the chance that she was incognito to all the hosts surrounding her. They would have been programmed to recognize her as a Stark, and she could ill afford to show any weakness in front of the people she would most likely have to lead in the near future.

She took a deep breath and she raised her head… just in time.

Another rider, one she did not expect and immediately behind him one whose arrival honestly affected her even more than even that of her Lord brother. While the scarred warrior being there was a puzzle, she didn’t concentrate much on it. Not when the second rider clearly meant so much more to her. At least that was what her heart was telling her. Why else would it begin beating at such a rapid pace as soon as she set eyes on him? And sure, it would make a lot more sense if she actually knew who the dark-haired man was. And why every instinct was prodding her to go to him.

So, when it came down to it, in the end she didn’t even stay for the arrival of the dragons. 

Instead, she had turned heel and retreated into the crowd, with the intention of circumventing the trail that carried the procession towards her home in lieu of a route that would place her ahead of the arriving party well ahead of his arrival. She had too, just so she could see him again: to get a closer look at the man whose arrival had inexplicably washed away almost every doubt she had.

**_“Oh, you like picking on the little ones do yah?”_ **

**_“What are you doing?”_ **

**_“They’re looking for me...”_ **

**_“My name’s not Arry. It’s Arya….”_ **

**_“You should stand side-face… sideways”_ **

**_“Am I fighting someone?”_ **

**_“Your practicing for a fight, you should practice right…”_ **

**_“I’ve never had a family….”_ **

**_“I can be your family…”_ **

**_“You wouldn’t be my family; you would be Milady…”_ **

The strange running commentary came to her as she sped the course that allow her to arrive before him. She accepted it without question, only coming still when the last memory (she couldn’t think of another word to describe them) rendered her immobile beside a cart full of the dragon-glass treasure that had been brought back with them: 

_**“What are you doing….let go of him… tell them to stop… he wants to be one of you.”** _

Gendry. He was alive. The red witch hadn’t killed him at all.

Arya doubling over when she reached the outer yard, had nothing to do with the slight stitch in her side, and everything with her belief that there had to be more to the rumors concerning Delos she had gotten wind of, than she first believed. Before in the original Old West themed park, unbeknownst to the guests an extensive data collection process had begun as soon each visitor had donned the cowboy hats that made up most of their costume. From it the company would create the ideal fantasy specific to the wearer. Aside from sounding totally implausible, it came across as an intrusion that, depending on whom you debated with on the net, was definitely in a grey area of the law. Not that Delos Inc, ever ‘fessed up to any of that. Unlike the hosts malfunctions that they hadn’t been able to keep a lid on, due to the number of guest injuries that were publicly reported, the notion of using their guests hidden thoughts and desires was something even too far-fetched to believe. Besides, these were her thoughts, there was no way they could have implanted the suggestion of knowing this man in her head, right? Well not without being far more than the mere theme park they professed to be.

He arrived then, and none of the speculative thoughts she was having meant a thing. And even though she knew that she should have gone to the great hall, Arya stood back out of the way and watched him. 

Gendry.

He looked to have been put in charge of fashioning the dragon-glass weapons, as he immediately began taking an account of the carts of the obsidian that had were being brought in. Therefore, any thoughts that she had of approaching him to see if he would recognize her were put aside. He would have to begin work straight away if they were to have sufficient weaponry. At least, she thought with a smirk, they would have to start pulling out the stash of weapons they had ready for this mummery. 

“It’s all a game, Arya,” she muttered to herself, as she stepped from the shadows so that she can go to find her family. 

And the fact that she could practically feel a pair of blue eyes drilling in her back, she attributed to Delos’ Imagineers truly being worth their salt.

However, she would have only needed one glance over her shoulder to learn how very wrong she was.

“Gendry.”

Ignoring the first time he was hailed, Gendry Waters, responded only when the speaker clapped him hard on his shoulder.

“I’d be wanting an axe,” the warrior declared. “Today, so get you head out of your arse, boy and get on with your job.”


End file.
